


And the award goes to...

by Cinaed



Series: Turin Turambar, Movie Star [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awards, First Kiss, M/M, One-sided Nellas/Túrin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 05:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4089220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Túrin is an actor and Beleg is his stuntman-turned-agent after an unfortunate accident on set, Túrin's co-star Nellas is asked to ensure he doesn't cause any controversy during an awards show. She doesn't succeed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the award goes to...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sath/gifts).



> I would like to state for the record that this is sath's fault entirely.
> 
> This is set a few years post-"Life's like a play."

It was a well known fact that Túrin hated award shows even more than Nellas did, so she wasn’t surprised when Túrin leaned close to Beleg and whispered, “I don’t know what’s worse, winning or losing.”

Túrin wore a look that his fans liked to call brooding, but Nellas knew meant that Turin was uncomfortable and trying not to show it. The seat was too small for him; his knees were practically to his chest, and he was hunched over as though trying to let the person behind him get a better view or to avoid the cameras.

His expression lightened a little as Beleg said dryly, “Well, either way Saeros will have something to say.”

Nellas swallowed down an uncomfortable giggle. The last time Túrin had frowned too much during an award show, Saeros’s blog had published an “exposé” of Túrin’s terrible feud with co-stars Forweg and Androg. Nellas had woken up to three emails from her mother asking if she’d known about it. And then there had been the court case--

“And the award for Best Kiss goes to _The Wild Things_!”

Nellas shrank back at the sudden applause. The rows were too narrow; even as she stood up, she collided with Túrin. He steadied her, some of his stern look easing to an apologetic grimace. She flushed at their proximity, and then fell back into the safety of acting. She pretended that he was just a stranger, that she hadn’t nursed a ridiculous crush on him ever since they’d made their first film together.

This close she could smell the spicy aftershave Beleg must’ve forced him to wear. At least she had an aisle seat, which made escape easier. She stepped away quickly. There were already enough articles about her and Túrin. She wasn’t going to add fuel to the fire.

She wished she could’ve skipped the show, but Mablung had taken her aside and, with the wild-eyed intensity that all directors acquired after filming a movie and then going on a press tour with Túrin, begged her to go with Túrin and keep him from sticking his foot in his mouth too badly.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Beleg’s broad smile. “Congratulations,” he said, his face tilted towards Túrin. Nellas wondered if he realized that he was touching Túrin’s arm.

Túrin shrugged and said something too low for Nellas to hear.

At first Túrin’s speech went smoothly, if mostly in a monotone. He thanked Melian and Thingol for their faith in him, Mablung for his directing, his fellow actors for their performances, the crew for all their effort, and Nellas (who flushed again at the second burst of applause this produced).

It was only when he paused, his gaze moving over the audience and stopping, that Nellas got a sinking feeling in her stomach. “Thank you,” she began, trying to cut in. Then she stopped, tongue-tied, as Túrin smiled.

It was a rare sight. Túrin didn’t smile unless filming, at least not in public and definitely not when cameras were on him, never genuine smiles that chased the brooding look from his face. “And of course I’d like to thank Beleg Cúthalion, without whom I wouldn’t be here.”

From the corner of her eye, Nellas saw Beleg’s face appear on the large screen. He looked nervous, ducking his head as though he could somehow escape the million cameras in the room.

The red light that meant Túrin needed to wrap up his speech began to flash. Either he didn’t notice it or decided to ignore it. He wrapped his hands around the mic and said, still smiling, “As anyone who’s met him knows, Beleg is one of the most talented people in the business. He was an incredible stuntman when I first met him, and now he’s the best agent I could ask for. I wouldn’t be standing here, accepting this award, without him.”

The large screen seemed to struggle between what it wanted to focus on: Túrin’s earnest smile or the rising flush in Beleg’s face as he sank lower in his seat. The crowd seemed divided on their opinion as well, with looks of embarrassment, glee, or horror on every face.   

One face leaped out at Nellas, radiating smug delight: Saeros had somehow gotten an invitation and now leaned forward and smirked as he typed rapid-fire on his phone.

Nellas thought of Mablung’s disappointed look and the nasty article Saeros was probably already writing. She inwardly quailed. Desperately she leaned towards the microphone, trying to get back on topic. “Speaking of stunts, Beleg worked closely with Mablung during the filming of _The Wild Things_ using his experience to keep the stunts safe but exciting. Let’s have a round of applause for him and our stuntpeople, who don’t get the recognition they deserve!”

There was a weak round of applause.

She tried to move the microphone away from Túrin and hesitated as Túrin’s smile faded. She didn’t know this look, but something in his expression made her stomach drop to her toes.

“I’m lucky to have him,” Túrin said.

Nellas wondered if he knew how he sounded. His voice was so earnest that she felt embarrassed, like she was a voyeur listening to a private conversation. Túrin was a full foot taller than she was, but apparently her desperation gave her strength, because Túrin bent a little as she tugged at his arm.

When he looked down at her, she said quickly, “We're all lucky to have him help out on set. And thank you so much for this award, everyone! I wonder what’s next to announce? The Best Death Scene, if it’s the same order as last year.” A nervous giggle escaped her, impossible to stop. “Be careful of spoilers!”

Túrin frowned. He looked at Nellas, taking in her anxious smile, and then at the large screen which lingered on Beleg, who had turned pink and was half-covering his face with his hands. She knew the second that Túrin’s own words registered. His face went blank. Then he was gone, half-marching down the aisle and leaving Nellas to smile one last time at the audience.

The cameras lingered on Túrin, who had barely folded himself into his seat before he leaned towards Beleg, his blank look darkening to a frown when Beleg didn’t look at him. His hand hovered over Beleg’s shoulder, as though he wanted to touch him but didn’t quite dare.

By the time Nellas got back to her seat, Túrin and Beleg were in the middle of a whispered argument. She tried not to listen, even though her mother would demand details tomorrow, but it was impossible not to overhear most of it, because the whispers weren’t exactly quiet. In fact, they weren’t whispers at all.

Nellas stared fixedly at the large screen as Túrin said, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, I just-- you’re important to me and I wanted--”

Beleg’s face was still hidden. His flush hadn’t faded; even his ears were pink. “Please stop talking.”

Nellas couldn’t help but look at Túrin for his reaction. He shut his mouth so firmly that his teeth clicked. He was already hunched up in his seat. Now he seemed to get even smaller, his expression terribly blank. He said nothing.

After a few seconds, Beleg looked at him. Whatever he saw in Túrin’s face made him sit up straight. It was his turn to reach out, his hand settling on Túrin’s elbow where the cameras might not see. He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, fondness crowding out his embarrassment. “I meant we can talk later, when we’re not on television.”

“Oh,” Túrin said and smiled again, a slow, tentative grin.

It wasn’t a smile Nellas had ever seen on his face before. It made Nellas’s chest hurt like when Túrin had had a press interview after their first movie together and hadn’t remembered her name. She felt like a voyeur again. She wished the show was over so that she could get away from everyone.

She looked back at the large screen at another round of applause. This time she kept her attention focused, half-holding her breath until her ears felt a little stuffy, so that she couldn’t hear anything else Túrin and Beleg said. It mostly worked, but she was relieved when people began standing. “Have a good night,” she said, earning a smile from Beleg and a vague nod from Túrin.

It took her a minute to realize the crowd wasn’t heading towards the exits but instead further into the building, towards the after-party. She could just imagine Saeros there, waiting to pounce and ask for her thoughts on Túrin’s acceptance speech. Alarmed, Nellas tried to get away, but it was like swimming upstream. It seemed like forever before she spotted an empty hallway to escape to until the crowd had passed. She leaned against the wall, trying to catch her breath.

Her phone, set to vibrate, shook in her purse. Fishing it out, she found that she had missed seven texts and two missed calls from her mother and Mablung. Even as she began to read the messages a sixth text popped up from Mablung that just had a single question mark. She winced. She owed him a phone call. She looked around, spotting a door that was slightly ajar.

She took a step inside. A second later she stumbled back out, squeezing her eyes shut and biting back a startled noise. Her face felt so hot she was surprised it didn’t burst into flames. Even with her eyes shut, she could still see it: Túrin cradling Beleg’s face; Beleg leaning up and into the touch; the way they’d been kissing, slowly, like they were savoring it.  

She fled down the hall, her emotions a complicated tangle. She was disappointed and happy and surprised and the opposite of surprised, somehow all at once. She’d given up on her crush around the time Túrin had blinked at an interviewer and said, “I don’t know anyone named Nellas,” and there had always been rumors about Túrin and Beleg…. But Nellas had seen enough movies and been in enough romantic films to know a first kiss when she saw one.

“It’s not any of my business,” she said, shaking her head, and only realized she’d spoken aloud when the valet gave her a strange look.

She went home, plugged her phone in to charge, and fell straight into bed. The next morning there were twenty-five text messages from her mother alone.

Nellas stared at the latest text which read: _nel, answer me._ _did you know about this???_ and a link. Her stomach sank.

“Oh no,” she said, staring down at the blurry photographs. Apparently someone else had seen Túrin and Beleg as well and snapped a few awkward but identifiable pictures with their phone. And of all the celebrity reporters to send the pictures to, they'd sent them to Saeros. So much for avoiding any controversy, she thought, and winced. “Oh no…..”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
